The Man Who Pleases and the Woman Who Charms, John A. Cone [best business books of all time .txt] 📗

Do not be afraid of giving something of yourself, of letting yourself out a little; and do not fear that your heart will run away with your head. Do not confound sentiment with sentimentalism, and do not hesitate to praise a thing or an act if it is really worthy of it. You need to do this for your own sake as well as for the sake of making others happy.

"For my own sake," you say. "In what way will it help me if I bestow praise upon another?" Praise, when it is deserved, is of more importance to the giver than the receiver.

"Praise does not immediately affect the merit of him to whom it is awarded," said a writer recently, "but it does immediately affect the merit of him to whom its awarding belongs. If a man deserves praise he is quite as much of a man without it as with it; but no man can be so much of a man, nor seem so much of a man, while withholding just praise as while bestowing it."

In little matters as well as in large ones, to acknowledge the merit of others is a duty, the performance of which is even more important to the one who owes it, than to the one to whom it is owed. We do not fail to express our appreciation of heroic deeds, but it is in the common, everyday life that the words of appreciation are most sorely needed, and too seldom spoken. Many a woman would have been greatly cheered and helped over many hard places, if, while living, she could have heard half as many nice things said to her by those she loved, as were put into her funeral sermon and obituary notice.

There is, of course, a great difference between the expression of a due and delicate appreciation of merit, and that false and exaggerated praise which is dictated by the desire to flatter. The former is always received with pleasure, but the latter wounds the susceptibility of those on whom it is lavished. To a mind rightly constituted, there are few things more painful than undeserved, or even excessive commendation. Flattery is never excusable; deserved praise should never be withheld.

Do not be a grumbler. Is there any person more unwelcome than the chronic growler? When we meet him he begins by growling about the weather; then you are entertained with a long account of his aches and pains, his trials and his losses. Nothing pleases him. His neighbors are dishonest, church members are hypocrites, public officials are, in his estimation, all rascals, law makers are corrupt, and the country is going to the dogs. If you speak in commendation of an individual, he at once attempts to belittle him in your estimation. If you praise a cause or an institution, he is sure to find fault with what you say. He wishes your sympathy for his troubles, but he has none to give.

We all crave sympathy, but, if we are not careful, we may exhaust the patience, even of our best friends, with the recital of our troubles. If your aches and pains are ever so bad, the best advice for you is "grin and bear it." It is all very well to be an interesting invalid for a short time. Your neighbors will bring you in good things to eat, and your friends will bring you pretty flowers to look at, and books to read, but do not remain too long in bed if you can help it, and do not wear too long and sad a face when you are recovering. It will not relieve your pain at all to tell everyone you meet how much you suffer, and when your friends have sympathized with you a dozen times they become a little tired of it. This advice is worthy of practice, not for the sake of your friends only, but for your own. The burden cheerfully borne becomes light, and any physician knows that the hopeful, cheerful patient has many more chances of recovery than the despondent one. In the lives of us all there are hours of anxiety, disappointment, pain and vexation; seasons of trial that are to be met only with stubborn patience. Greatness of soul is tested by the serenity with which these inevitable ills are borne and finally overcome. The little mind will fret and chafe and fume over little things, even as the petty stream over its narrow, pebbly bed, while the deep, strong river moves swiftly and silently over the boulders that lie at its bottom.

"But," you say, "while the advice is good it is very hard to follow it." Yes, but it is really harder not to heed it. "The bird that beats against the iron bars of its cage suffers more than the patient captive."

Laugh all you can. It is good for you. Physicians tell us that laughing has a direct and positive effect upon one's health. The physical movement caused by a hearty laugh causes the arteries to dilate and the flow of blood to hasten, thus promoting an acceleration of vital processes; and a mental action through stimulating the blood vessels of the brain. He who administers medicine in the shape of wit and humor to the sad heart is most assuredly a "good Samaritan."

The irresistible, good-humored philosophy of Mark Twain has relieved the depression and sorrow of multitudes. He has compelled us to laugh, and his mission in the world has been a beneficent one. A cheerful face is as good for an invalid as pleasant weather. Cheerfulness is health, melancholy is disease. Cheerfulness is just as natural to the heart of a man in sound moral and physical health as color to his cheeks, and wherever we see habitual gloom we may be sure there is something radically wrong in the animal economy or the moral sense.

Sydney Smith once gave a lady two-and-twenty receipts against melancholy. One was a bright fire; another, to remember all the pleasant things said to her; another, to keep a box of sugar plums on the chimney piece and a kettle simmering on the hob. These are trivial things in themselves but life is made up of these little pleasures and none should be neglected because of their seemingly trifling nature.

If our temperament does not make us naturally cheerful, we can, at least, cultivate those habits of body and mind which seem most favorable to the growth of this condition. We can keep the mind open to cheerful impressions, and close it to those that are gloomy. It is far better to magnify our blessings than to depreciate them. The Spaniard of whom Southey tells that he always put on his magnifying glasses when he ate cherries, in order to make them seem larger, had the true philosophy of life. So the ancient Pompeiians seem to have well understood the art of making the most of everything. Their gardens were very small, but by painting the surrounding walls with plants and landscapes their little area became indefinitely enlarged to the eye of the observer.

"Eccentricity may be harmless, but it never can be commendable; it is one of the children of that prolific failing--vanity. And whether it shows in feeling, manners, or peculiarities of dress, it is clearly acted upon from the presumptuous supposition that the many are in the wrong, the individual in the right."

Society will pardon much to genius and special gifts, but, being in its nature a convention, it loves what is conventional or what belongs to coming together. That makes the good and bad of manners, namely, what helps or hinders fellowship. EMERSON.

We all know that the outward address of a person has great influence upon his success both in the social and the business world. Thousands of men and women are, in their efforts to please, hindered by some personal peculiarity which is painfully apparent to other people, but of which they themselves seem wholly ignorant. Thousands of professional and business men are prevented from attaining the success they might reach by some infelicity of manner or speech which could be remedied by a little painstaking effort.

Here is a physician who has prepared himself thoroughly for his profession by years of hard study and by the expenditure of a considerable sum of money, but he knows little of human nature, and but little of the requirements of good society. He has no tact, and has not thought it necessary to cultivate that quality. He is cold and unsympathetic. He has no ability to make friends or to keep them. He is not sociable, and he does not make himself agreeable to his patients by those little kindly acts and sympathetic speeches so comforting to invalids. He feels that he is well prepared to practice his profession, and he regards any personal defects as of little importance. Other men of less ability, but with more tact, soon outstrip him in the race for public favor. He never succeeds in acquiring a large practice, and, possibly, never knows the reason why.

A young man applies for a position as a teacher. He is well equipped in scholarship for the place he wishes, for he led his class in college, and he comes highly recommended as a young man of integrity and earnestness. After a short interview the superintendent of schools decides that he is not the man for the position and the applicant goes away disappointed. Why was he rejected? Not by reason of poor scholarship, nor for lack of moral character, but simply on account of his personal appearance. He was untidy in his dress. His linen was soiled, his coat was not brushed, his cuffs were frayed at the edges, while his finger-nails gave evidence that he was habitually careless about personal neatness and cleanliness. The superintendent decided at once that he did not want him, and the young man did not know why.

Here is a young woman who is fine looking, intelligent and accomplished. Apparently she possesses all those qualities which are necessary to make her a favorite in society and she seems to deserve a host of friends. Yet she is not greatly sought after by her acquaintances, and she has few firm friends. Young men pay her but little attention, and seem afraid of her. Other girls, less brilliant intellectually, with fewer accomplishments, and with plainer faces, are far greater favorites in society. Her particular weakness is that she has allowed herself to fall into the practice of employing sarcasm to an extent which is offensive to those with whom she talks. She has a habit of saying disagreeable, biting things in a humorous way, and she never suspects that people are hurt by them. She has cultivated the habit to such a degree that she can always raise a laugh at some person's expense, and she is constantly on the watch for opportunities to exercise this accomplishment. Finally it dawns upon her that she does not hold her friends; that she is sometimes slighted in the matter of invitations; that she is not a popular girl, and she doesn't know why.

A certain clergyman is a fine preacher, capable of attracting, instructing,